


Hypertension

by Decayedwhirrs



Category: Manic Street Preachers
Genre: Camping, College, Drunk Blow Jobs, Facials, Flashbacks, Kissing, M/M, Sexual Tension, Swallowing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 19:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3179831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decayedwhirrs/pseuds/Decayedwhirrs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richey is pleasantly surprised by his new college roommate, and they reflect on a raunchy experience. (Please do not repost anywhere)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hypertension (Ch.1)

"I lost my virginity."

A throaty laugh escapes before I can suppress it. The thought of him fumbling around with a woman, in some cold, lived-in room with a leaky ceiling enters my mind. Picturing him there, with his bony back gyrating back and forth, his slender ribs rippling under his snowy skin in rhythm with his slow insertions was wildly comedic. The woman was a shapeless mass; I couldn’t imagine a specific girl, but I predicted she had lay there, bored or uncomfortable, as he naively maneuvered around her certainly more experienced parts.

"What was it like?" I ask curiously, finally responding after my brief impression. Turns out my imagination wasn’t so off the mark. 

"Nothin’ extraordinary," he says mildly I envision him shrugging his bony shoulders in indifference.

"Who was it?"

"Dunno, some girl I met at a pub. I don’t remember her name." I laugh again, tickled this time by his overwhelming lack of investment in what’s typically regarded as a highlight experience in one’s life. He chuckles as well on the other line. "Brilliant, innit?" he asks me sarcastically, smirking at his disinterest. "I’m a modern-day Casanova." The last echos of his smirking meet my eardrums, and I smile. I can see him there, sitting in his desk chair in his dorm, boredly twirling the landline phone cord as he recounts his endeavor His lips are certainly upturned gently at the corners as he chuckles, a warm and familiar sound. It’s oddly impressive the way he negates gently mocking himself with a dash of humility.

"Nick?" He asks, interrupting my thoughts.

"Yeah, sorry. Got distracted." I reply. He grunts dismissively. "So, was it hot?"

"No," he answers blandly. And with the sterile way he described the act, I believe him.

"So, you all settled up in Swansea?" I ask, changing the subject.

He exhales deeply from his lungs as he adjusts in his desk chair. “Yeah. Classes start in a few days. My roommate hasn’t turned up, though…” he says. His voice trails off, not so much with concern as it seems he is merely stating a fact.

I succeed in repressing my grins this time. “Don’t worry Rich, I’m sure he’ll be there soon.” He makes a vague noise, designed to acknowledge that he heard me.

"I hope he’s not a twat," Richey says. "I don’t have the patience…"

I smile knowingly to myself. “Nah, don’t worry,” I say supportively. “I’m sure you’ll love him. I’ll call you when I get settled in Portsmouth.”

-

A few days had gone by, and Nicky still hadn’t called. Nor had my roommate appeared. Neither of these occurances were particularly alarming; however, they both swirled around my brain at odd intervals frequently. I bite my nails to relieve the tension. What if I’m trapped here for the whole term, with the guys scattered across Britain, living their own separate lives, and they slowly begin to phase me out? And I’m left with a clearly unreliable sloth to fall back on for emotional support? 

I sigh tiredly, removing my nibbled fingertips from my nervous mouth and place my palm flatly over my stomach. I consciously feel my breathing, the stale college air filling my lungs like a slowly-inflating balloon, then releasing, escaping from my nostrils in bored repetition With my right arm languidly folded over behind my head, I count the speckles on the ugly ceiling tiles. Classes start in two days. I’m not worried about that at all, in fact. I can swallow history lessons like nobody’s business-after all, I’m the odd one that spends his free time reading Dostoevsky instead of fucking girls. Class shouldn’t be a problem. I exhale one more time. At least I’ll have the room to study in silence-

A rough knock on the door interrupts my train of thought, and suddenly-just as I was warming up to the idea of dorming alone-I have to greet the fool. I stretch out quickly on the bed before standing. Smoothing my shirt of wrinkles and harboring some bitterness, I head over to open the door.

"Surprise!" A loud, eager voice happily greets me. I’m gobsmacked as I stare unbelievably at the wide, toothy grin across the threshold. "Nicky… What are you doing here?" I ask, the shock wearing off, being replaced with pure excitement. "I transferred! And I specifically requested you as my roommate ” he says, pointing a long, slender finger at my chest. My heart pounds with a cocktail of confusion and thrill. I can’t properly reply. I simply smile, my mouth hanging open in pleased disbelief. “I’m not too much of a twat to be your roomie, am I?” He jokes coyly, a box of clothes tucked casually under his arm. I chuckle. “I couldn’t be happier,” I say, finally finding my manners and stepping towards him for a hug.

He snakes his free arm around my waist as I conform to his taller figure. I tilt my head to the side, as I can’t place my head over his shoulder, and rest my cheek comfortably on his chest muscle. “Glad you’re here,” I say softly into his torso. He smiles down at me, and pats my back comfortingly. “Me to,” he says into my hair. “Help with the boxes?” Pulling away from him, I realize I’ve rudely left him standing there with a seemingly heavy package in his arm, and I feel a bit foolish. “Oh” I say mildly. “Yeah, ‘course.” I take the parcel from him and with a cock of my head, invite him into the-our-dorm room.

I set his box on the spare bed on the western side of the room. But as I turn to face him, I’m startled. He’s standing there simply, his palm resting casually on the short bulb of the bedpost, his shoulders slanted, his body lithe and languid. His chin is dropped down towards his chest, and-what’s startling-is his eyes are looking up at me with an air of mystery I can’t quite place. I look back at him, somewhat defensively. Without realizing it, I’ve brought my hand to my chest, guarding my heart, as if his vision could somehow pierce the skin of my chest and execute me in a single glance. After a few stalemate seconds, he cracks his disarming smile. We both chuckle, yet I feel displaced. Why’s he looking at me like that? Instinctively, I check my clothes. My shirt is void of wrinkles, my jeans fit as best they can-

My heart jumps again as a rough, masculine palm cups my cheek. I gasp automatically, startled again. Nicky’s come closer to me, lifting my head up gently from my self-criticism to meet his gaze. His face is familiar, his smile is infectious and kind, but his eyes… They seem bluer, or colder, or swirling with some kind of superior knowledge of a secret that escapes me. I swallow a lump in my throat.

"You okay, Rich? You look like you’ve seen a ghost," He says playfully, his large palm still embracing my taut cheek. Reflexively, I blink and shake my head. "Er, yeah. Dusty in here." Seriously? That was the best I could think of? I kick myself mentally. Nicky smirks at me, telling that he doesn’t believe me, but he recedes, not pushing the issue further. His hand falls from my face into his jeans pocket. “Ya know, I am really happy to be here with you, Richey,” he says supportively.

Like a good friend.

I nod. “Yeah, ‘course. I couldn’t have picked a better roommate,” I say, grinning. He smiles back coyly, and this vague, pestilent feeling creeps up my chest like niter Must be the warm weather, I tell myself. What other explanation is there?

"Have you found it, Nick?" a high-pitched, friendly voice asks from the hall. "Yeah, Mum," NIcky says, breaking his eye contact with me to turn out the door and wave his mother over. "Ah, this is a nice enough space for the two of you! Hello Richard," she says warmly as she appears in the doorway. "Hi Mrs. Jones," I answer politely with a meek wave. "Well then, boxes?" She asks, pointing her thumb down the hall. Nicky nods. "I’ll help bring them in," I offer. Mrs. Jones smiles at me. "Thank you, dear," she says kindly, patting me on the head as I walk out the door, absently following Nicky down the hall. 

As I trace those memorized steps absently, in that spare moment I’m left with my thoughts. Why do my legs feel so shaky? Have I eaten? God, I’m behaving bizarrely, I admit to myself, cupping my palm against my forehead. Is my temperature ok, or is it just hot out? What the hell am I tripping for? I ask myself impatiently as I push open the double doors leading to the blinding sunshine in the university parking lot. On autopilot, my mind and my legs keep racing, until I’m hooked around the stomach with what feels like iron bars.

A hot, humid breath curls over the crook of my neck, brassy blonde hair folding down over my shoulder. Slowly, unconsciously I bring my hands to where I’m being gripped, and I relax a little as I feel the velvety texture of Nicky’s athletic arms. “Where are you going, silly?” His mature, teasing voice asks me as he breathes into my neck. He squeezes my waist affectionately in his fit arms, and I blink dumbfoundedly, as if that could combat the blistering fever creeping up in my chest. He lifts his moist, warm mouth from the crook of my neck and shoulder, up to the delicate skin of my ear. The temperature of his words incite a cold shudder in me, shaking from my shoulders and rippling down through my spine as he breathes quietly, “the car’s over here.”

With that, he releases me, and heads towards the open trunk. I turn and stare, defeated. Even my mind is silent as I try to comprehend. My palms sweat, and all I can seem to do is blink foolishly as I question what’s been happening to me. Nicky suddenly appears at uni, and all those odd, unplaceable feelings come rushing back, filling my head with a static affliction. He put his arms around me, and I melted, and when he let me go, I struggle to reform, recompose myself into something solid. Hot, burned up, and melted, then blown out, cold, and solid, misshapen like a used-up candle.


	2. Hypertension (Ch.2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicky and Richey reminisce over their first intimate encounter (please don't repost anywhere).

The sun was setting, casting a warm amber haze into the ancient room, making it seem hotter and stuffier than the old dorm already felt. Being the fashionista that I am, I may have packed one too many shirts, which I quickly regretted once it came time to lug the cases from the carpark, up the stairs and down a long hall. But we were finished, Mum had kissed me goodbye, and I was finally beginning the second year of college life.

The first of which I was spending with my best friend.  
I lay down on my bed, annoyed by the creaking the dry springs made as my weight shifted them beneath the mattress. I thrust my forearm over my eyes, shielding them tiredly from the glare of the setting sun. My legs dangled off the side carelessly. “Man, I’m beat,” I complain, feeling my chest heave and fall as I caught my breath.

"It was only a few trips back and forth," Richey says with a modest smile.

I peek at him from under my arm. “Easy for you!” I tease. “Mum let you carry the light stuff.”

"What light stuff?" He jokes. "You’ve brought enough packs to last the next three years."

I shrug dismissively, recovering my eyes. “I like a lot of options,” I counter. Richey just chuckles at my excess, shaking his head with lighthearted disapproval from side to side. “What are you working on?” I ask, mildly annoyed. “Classes haven’t even started yet.” 

"Just making sure I have everything," he says, his deep eyes pensive as he skims over what is apparently a checklist. He glances up from the sheet, a small look of worry flickering over his eyes, and readjusts his vision towards a stack of books he has piled on his desk. Pointing his slim finger, I watch as he reads the dirty, weathered spines of the old, used books and mentally checks off each one. The stress leaving his expression, his gaze returns to the sheet in his hand. I smirk.

"What?" he says with confusion, as he snaps his head around to look at me.

"Overachiever," I mutter playfully, stretching my legs out over the creaky wooden floorboards.

"I like to be prepared," he answers defensively. "What, leave Portsmouth cuz it was too challenging, Nick?" he teases.

"Tch," I scoff as I sit upright, my palms curling down over the side of the mattress. "Portsmouth was easy," I say. Richey gives me a jokingly skeptical look before turning his attention to one of his notebooks. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that he looked startled as I suddenly grabbed his jaw with my fingers, snapped his head around to face me, and said "I came here for you." I did expect him to look at me with uncertainty as I did this, and he did. But what threw me off was the way he looked so, so… suspicious. The inquisitiveness in his eyes as they searched mine conjured up a grey fog in me, a thick discomfort that made me feel protective of the newfound vulnerability and hurt I was experiencing as he looked at me so bizarrely.

And then I remembered I was the one who had done something weird. 

As I pulled my hand away from Richey’s softly curved jaw, I couldn’t help but notice how soft and well-conditioned it was. For a second, I thought maybe my senses had played a trick on me. Without thinking, I brought both of my palms over the sides of his face, pattering them gently on his flesh to get a feel for the texture. “Can you even grow a beard?” I ask with a laugh, enchanted by the unprecedented smoothness of his cheeks, like a child being shown a magic trick. He chuckles at my silliness. “My beard grows in really slowly; I like to be clean-shaven anyway.” I knead the pads of my fingertips over the length of his delicate jaw. “Your face is so smooth,” I say with juvenile disbelief. Richey laughs at me. “Alright, alright,” he says politely waving me away. “Please stop giving me a face massage,” he pleads. 

I drop my hands boredly at his request. After a second, though, I quickly bring them up to assess my own skin. It feels rough and masculine, filled with texture-stubby hairs growing in, the grooved, scabbed flesh of a healing cut that occurred as I was shaving. I lack the fantastic smoothness-not to mention the geisha-like paleness-of Richey’s superior complexion. I drop my hands into my pockets. Now I’ve gone and made myself depressed.

I don’t know how long I stood there, slouching and internally complaining to myself, but it must’ve been long enough, because I suddenly became withdrawn enough from my introversion to realize Richey was looking up at me oddly, staring as if to say “what the hell are you doing?” I jump a little. “Er…” I say lamely. He continues to look up at me, his face neither accusatory or welcoming, simply void, with a dash of curiosity. I look down back at him, and our eyes meet. Again, inexplicably, I feel an overwhelming desire to be close to him. I analyze his eyes with an overpowering desire for something greater. I feel a magnetic pull towards him, when he looks at me so innocently, so blamelessly, as if he were a man-o-war that grabbed me by the ankle and is pulling me down, rapidly, helplessly, into an abyssal sea where the sun no longer shines. He blinks casually. Once, twice. His eyelashes are long and dark, fawn-like decorations over his massive, round eyes. When he fixes his pupils upwards, as he is now to meet my gaze, his eyes seem even larger, somehow more virginal, than when he faces me directly. Those eyes are like… swirling vortexes, or sticky, fresh amber; both waiting to suck me in, trap me, and cut off my oxygen, like a hapless fool who wandered too far from his comfort zone.

And then I realize, as I stand there, looking with passionate interest into Richey’s eyes, that I’m trying to put together pieces of a puzzle depicting an image I’ve never seen. In my inexplicable spontaneous enamor, I feel compelled to figure out this strange desire, to understand the shapeless fingers that have reached out and possessed me, to put into words a sensation that I can’t fathom at all.

He lifts his eyebrow at me curiously, cocking his head softly to the side. “Something on your mind, Nick?” he asks. As his lips move, they break my concentration-as is the traditional way to counteract a mysterious spell from being cast-and my vision flickers down from his enchanting eyes to his subtler, yet equally as hypnotic, mouth. His lips are pillowy and soft looking, with lush little grooves running vertically throughout. The skin is a nubile pink, a healthy color, I mentally note. But what makes this combination remarkable is the shape of Richey’s mouth. He has swollen-looking lips that naturally downturn into a bratty pout. How ironic it is, I notice, that when he smiles, his lips smooth out harmoniously, creating the most cheerful, the most… captivating… smile anyone in South Wales has ever seen.

"Eh?" Nothing," I say quickly, clenching my fists in my pockets and tearing my gaze away from my friend and out the window. The sky is a fluorescent pink now, accented with puffy lavender clouds. Idyllic one might say. I scoff softly under my breath and walk away, seeking solace in my bed. I lay with my face buried in the pillows, feeling very agitated and I can’t for the life of me figure out why.

-

Nicky walked like a ghost, vacant and hollow, away from me and down onto his mattress. My eye followed him with a pang of concern. “Nicky…” I say gently, unsure if I had somehow done something to contribute to his sudden mood. He says nothing, his face molded to the thin pillow as if it were his lover. An overwhelming compassion overtaking me, I push myself from my desk chair and walk over to him. “Nick?” I try softly, rubbing him on the shoulder, leaning over his figure in bed like a worried mother. He grunts dismissively. I withdraw, leaning back as I look at him sternly. and then I smile. “You’re being a drama queen,” I whisper playfully in his ear as I swing my legs up over his hips, pushing myself off of his back as I get into bed with him. He tucks his face away from me playfully as I speak to him. “Not serious now, are you?” I coax.

He giggles, his crabbiness melted as suddenly as it appeared. “What’re you doing in bed with me?” He says with a laugh, turning his head to face me, his cheek slumped into the thin off-white mass of pillow. “You were pulling a mood. Lighten up,” I suggest, placing my hand comfortingly on his shoulder. It seems my words have an immediate effect, as I feel the muscles in his body relax underneath my bony palm, and he turns to lay on his side, facing me. I prop myself up on my left elbow, leaving my hand comfortably where it lays on Nicky’s waist, pushed off of his athletic back as he turned. 

"These beds are fucking small," he gripes, flashing his scintillating grin. I can’t help but smile in return every time I see him do it. "What’d you expect?" I quip. Ignoring my question, he responds. "This is almost like the time we went camping." My eyes shift over to a corner of the room as I recall what he’s suggesting. It was about two years ago, both of us still awkwardly in our teens. James’ parent’s had invited Sean and the two of us to go on a week long camping trip with them, and instantly, memories of foul-smelling bug spray, toasty fires and pitched tents nostalgically float to mind. Nicky and I had been forced into the smallest tent, and we spent much of the night fumbling around, trying to lay in a position that wouldn’t shove the rocks and twigs deeper into our spines. "Was that the time we…?"

It flashes through my mind and I’m jolted, as if faced with the specter of a dead relative. 

Our eyes connect, and I feel my jaw unhinge in discomfort as I inhale, as if the air could cushion my lungs, softening any type of blunt-edged blow that my come to my chest. Nicky looks down at the pillow bashfully, cracking his infectious smile, the corner of which I can see peeking up over the edge of his pillow. I can feel my eyes glossing over as I hold them open, struck like lightening with a flood of teenage awkwardness. 

Vivid images of hot, hungry mouths gripping one another tightly explode in my memory like starbursts after botched eye surgery. In one breath, scenes of fingers tangled in matted, un-dyed hair, wet, impatient tongues, and sore, swollen bulges, inflamed with a juvenile ache ripped through my mind. I woke up the next morning with my skin speckled in wine-colored love bites, and my hands smelled like a romp for days after, no matter how often I washed. I tasted his sweat every time I bit my nails, and was immediately transported back to my lesson on loving boys.

The images evaporated like morning dew and I was suddenly aware that I had not lost time. I had, in fact, remained perfectly seated, next to a coy Nicky, in a dank, musty Swansea dorm. Collecting myself, I looked over at him. His face had not hardened, or shown a trace of the 16-year-old gangliness that has repossessed me. I felt the skin over my cheeks and nose bridge grow hot as I blushed. I brought my thumbnail to my mouth shyly. The corner of Nicky’s smile grew a little broader. “It was fun,” he said chipper, with a shrug. I can’t suppress my grin. “Yeah, I s’pose it was,” I say meekly, trying to hide the joy I felt as a wave of pleasurable memories coursed, strong and shocking like viper venom, through my veins. But like a drug, the titillating memories had flashed and vanished, and I was low, desperate to change the subject, lest I draw attention to feelings I had long tried to suppress. “Guess I wasn’t a total virgin when I lost it then, huh?” I joke.

Nicky laughs heartily. “Yeah, guess not. Jokes on her,” he says with a wink, still smiling. He uncovers his face from the pillow, laying the side of his face on the pillow like normal. My eyes roll slowly in my sockets as I move them, my vision dragging over the floor. I chew my thumbnail-a nervous habit-before slumping down to lay on my back, placing my palms flatly over my stomach, defeated. “The girl from the pub said I was a sloppy kisser,” I admit finally, sighing away my insecurity. I stare up at the speckled ceiling tiles, pensive.

Nicky’s rough, more masculine hand slips under my t-shirt, his fingertip tracing a circle softly around my belly button. I don’t dare tear my eyes away from the ceiling as I feel his body inch closer to mine. Frustratingly, my heart palpitates at the forced closeness. “The girl from the pub,” NIcky whispers sensually into my ear “doesn’t know a damn thing about you.” Now it’s my turn to hide my grin shyly, flattered by his reassurance. He lifts his fingers from the skin of my stomach and brings it confidently to my cheek. I swallow a hitched, excited breath before it can escape, and I give myself, or my feelings, away. With his fingertip, Nicky boldly pushes me by the cheekbone, turning my head to face him, stunning me as he plants his lips firmly, hungrily over mine. 

My body tenses, every muscle rigid, paralyzed by his boldness. And then, when it doesn’t blink away a second later, I realize that it’s real, it’s not an accident. Have I been the only one trying to smother feelings that I pretended weren’t there? Or is this some kind of a joke? I-I… For once, I shut my brain up, and try to enjoy it. Nicky’s lips are as soft as I remember, moving expertly over my own, firm and knowing how to please. Feeling the familiarity of his luscious mouth sends a fever rampaging through my body, culminating in a wild blaze in my usually disinterested manhood. My skin feels electric as he runs his fingertip expertly down my cheek, then lunges his fingertips back up over the side of my face, firmly gripping the hair at the back of my head. Before I realize it, or stop it, or think too much about it, I moan excitedly into his mouth. He tugs the hair gently, his lips smoothing into a naughty smile as he kisses me. 

Nicky makes it clear he’s in control.

And as I eagerly part my lips, wanting to bring his wet tongue into my mouth, dying to lick it lustfully like tipsy teenagers, I realize that that’s the way it’s always been. His exceptional smile, his arctic eyes, his lithe, footballer figure-I’ve always been powerless to the overwhelming attraction I have to him. I grip his forearm, clutching it desperately, afraid if I don’t hold him there, he may let me go and the lascivious moment will be over. As if having read my mind, he slips his tongue into my waiting mouth, and I greet it with my own, running my meager, trembling muscle over the sides and tip of his tongue. 

Nicky knows what I like.

He’s known since before I did, when he cradled me, similarly to how he is right now, when I was just sixteen, feeling like the only boy in school who was still a virgin. And I didn’t care-girls didn’t interest me much. It was the tense, fit muscles, hitched breaths pulsing behind Adam’s apples, and narrow, slender hips of boys-this boy-that always crept up into my nighttime thoughts and inflamed me with a burning ache only my hand could soothe. And God, the moment it happened, the way he embraced my face and gently pulled it towards his, the way he teased my eager to learn lips, the way he tugged and rubbed the areas of me that throbbed with a bursting need I had never experienced with a person before, the way he unabashedly took me in his mouth, despite getting his knees dirty in our pathetic little tent-I moaned, enticed by the memory. Actually having Nicky was literally a dream come true. And here it was again, as sudden, as sensitive, as confusing as it was the first time. I thought not liking girls was just a phase. 

Nicky’s making it painfully obvious that it isn’t.

Licking my lips playfully as he withdrew his tongue, he retracted slightly and looked at me. His fingers released my hair, and instead carefully, lovingly tucked random strands that had gone messy behind my ear. He looked at me deeply, confidently in the eye and said “that sure as hell wasn’t a sloppy kiss.” I feel my heart plummet into my stomach, painfully aware of his fingers sweetly grooming me. Why is Nicky being so nice to me? We hadn’t even talked about the camping trip much. There’s no way he could’ve been harboring the same type of feelings. There is a catch. There’s got to be some clause that says sorry, Richey, the jokes on you. He smiled supportively at me and kissed me softly on the lips once more, and all I can do is blink, the blood leaving my face and groin, trying to steady my breath as my head becomes clogged with wishes and doubt, hopes and fears.

Nicky makes me feel sixteen again.


	3. Hypertension (Ch.3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The details of what happened during Nicky and Richey's drunken teenage camping trip. (Please dont repost anywhere)

*Two years ago*

While I appreciated Sean and James inviting us on a camping trip, I was unsure who thought letting four drunk, rowdy teens out in the wilderness was such a good idea. The fertile soil was overturned from where were constantly moving over it, it’s surface littered with cigarette butts and empty beer cans. The fire had blazed brightly that night, but as morning approached, the searing logs had been reduced to faintly glowing embers, gray smoke still swirling up from the stone fire pit and up towards the black ink sky. The moon had fallen behind a leafy tree somewhere, but a mess of stars were scattered overhead, radiant. The air smelled like smoked wood and pine needles, warm summertime night air.

"Fuck off!" Sean grumbled as he tossed his empty beer can in the trash. He muttered something else then clamored into his tent on the far side of the camp. We all chuckled. "I suppose he’s done for," James said. He took a long sip from his beer. "I suppose that’s me as well. Bed soon fellas?"

I looked at Richey, who was wrapped in a comfortable, cozy looking sweatshirt. His posture was relaxed, his clothes loose. He only smiled at James, but gave no definite answer. I could tell by the alcohol gleaming in his eyes though, that he was at an energetic peak and not quite ready for bed. I laughed. James looked at me, and cocked his head. He was giving me a look like I was being odd, but that only made me laugh harder. Richey cast me a sidelong glance, and began to chuckle himself. My stomach began to hitch I was laughing so hard. James looked quite confused-I don’t blame the guy-but eventually he was smirking too. Eventually I caught my breath, but the urge to burst into laughter was still there, so nibbled the side of my finger, eyes closed, in an attempt to regain my composure.

"Well, I think I’m done," James said, rising to throw his beer in the trash. "Put the coals out, don’t stay up too late."

"Alright mum," I said. James gave me a playful punch on the shoulder, then said goodnight and followed Sean into their tent.

Our tent was on the lefthand side of the camp, a good ways away from the other guys. However, for whatever little privacy it offered, there was even less space. I could never figure out why they decided to stick the six foot giant into a tiny tent, but so it was. “I suppose we shouldn’t linger too long,” Richey said, tracing a line in the soil with the toe of his boot. “Yeah, I reckon,” I agreed, finishing my beer. We poured water over the coals and called it a night.

At least, that was our aim. It was rather difficult just having me in the tent, but-as small as Richey was-he was still another person and he took up space. Plus, we were both remarkably drunk, and I was pretty clumsy to begin with. Poor boy. I must’ve elbowed him in the face seventy times trying to get my jacket and sweatshirt off. But he was always a sport, and would simply laugh at me, his faint, feminine laugh. To be even, his narrow, bony hips jutted into me a number of times as well. Sharp little things they were, and a bit unpleasant when mashed against my own body. In a drunken slur, we were eventually nudging each other in an attempt to make room more than we were actually getting undressed, and, naturally, I fell.

I couldn’t resist, the fit of laughter came out of me again. From the corner of my eye I saw Richey smile at me, a kind of maternal, “oh, you,” smile. He knelt down and placed his hand on my back. “Alright?” he asked. A few laughs passed before I could answer. “Yeah, I’m fine. A faceful of dirt never hurt,” I said. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he offered, moving his hands to help me up. But I cupped my hand around his wrist, stopping him. “What does it matter? We’re just gonna sleep on the ground anyway,” I said. He nodded in agreement. I smirked, a devilish streak spontaneously passing through me. “So… get down here!” I said, pulling him by the wrist and knocking him forward. He fell on top of my back, but adjusted and lay next to me on his side.

"We’re a mess at getting dressed," he said playfully. I shrugged my shoulders. "Clothes come off anyway." I tugged lightly at his thin grey undershirt for effect, kicking up the fabric and revealing a section of his soft, smooth belly. He had a little trail of coarse hair that ran up from under his waistband up to his belly button. I stroked it with the tip of my finger absently. I could see the flush on his cheeks. He clutched at the hem of his shirt and pulled it back down. I shrugged. He was laying comfortably enough, propped up on his elbow, his temple resting on his softly curled knuckles. Richey spoke. "Nature’s nice, innit? I’m glad we got to come. The trees are really lovely and the the-"

"You’re really attractive," I interrupted.

He had been looking away, off somewhere in the back of the tent. But when I said that, his deep eyes turned towards me and stared. “Huh?” The poor thing was confused. I chuckled, and mimicked his pose. “I said ‘you’re really attractive.’” I took his chin in my hand and turned his face slightly, assessing it from different angles. “You look really great,” I confirmed. “I’m surprised you haven’t had a girlfriend.” He waved my hand away with a lighthearted shrug. “I’m serious Richey!” I said. “You’ve got big eyes, nice bone structure and-” Without realizing it, I was running my thumbnail across his bottom lip. It was smooth and pale, and looked pouty when I flicked my thumb away, gently tugging on it. “You’ve got a tarty little mouth,” I finished. Richey looked at me, clearly confused. I should’ve felt embarassed, but the alcohol spurred me on. Bored with the silence, I absently traced my index and middle finger tips over his lip. His rich brown eyes had gone wide, and with his babydoll lashes and parted lips, he looked even more sweetly naive. I looked down at them, admiring his cushy little lips. “Yeah Richey, you really are fine.”

-

My heart was pounding loudly in my chest, so loud I feared Nicky would hear it in the calm evening silence. Sure, I had limited experience with this kind of thing, but it felt like Nicky was coming on to me. I swallowed a lump in my throat. Was that possible? We had been friends for so long, it seemed silly. Or was I just taking his speech, warmed and slurred by alcohol, and his lithe fingers pricking against me out of context? When I put it like that, it seemed difficult to mistake his intent. Even now, he was staring down at my mouth with an unmistakable hunger. But I had a strong buzz going too, and entertained the thought. What if we kissed? My mind was blank-I didn’t have an answer-but the blood rushing to my groin was telling. I pulled down on my shirt again, trying to hide it. But Nicky had a mischievous grin on that I found vaguely-attractive. Without thinking, I leaned in.

He hesitated for a moment, but then our lips touched.

Of course I had kissed people before, but this was different. It was like an electric current coursing through my body, raising my temperature to a point that left my skin flushed. Nicky was gentle at first, our lips meeting lightly, a faint pressure between them, nothing more. But even that was enough to invoke a raging curiosity in me, the old cliche, a burning desire. I pressed our mouths deeper, growing impatient. Nicky slid his hand up, cupping behind my ear as he pulled me towards him. I moaned with hunger into his open mouth, daring to brush the tip of my tongue against his. I was surprised by how forward I was being, but to my relief, he giggled, and licked the side of my tongue in return. I was eager, exploring his mouth as if I’d never tasted one before. My skin was tingling with electric static.

So it was shocking when he brought his hand down and ran it over my hip, slipping under my shirt and pushing the fabric up as he moved over my waist. He leisurely ran his thumb over my stomach. “Ahh,” I breathed between kisses. My muscles tensed under his light touch. It was like he was enjoying toying with me. He ran his palm over my waist and down my belly. “You always had such a nice body,” he whispered into my ear. Then he hooked two of his fingers under the waistband of my jeans, pulling me forcefully towards him.

I gasped. Nicky had a solid hard-on, which he was pressing firmly into my own. It was a hard lump sticking out through the fabric of his pants. I twitched at the realization that it was layers of thin cloth-our jeans and underwear-that kept us from touching for real. I braced myself against his thin, athletic hip and pushed back into him. I nipped at his lower lip before plunging my tongue back into his mouth, desperate for as much contact with him as possible. He moaned and gyrated back into me, enthusiastic as I was, and suddenly clothes felt like a nuisance, a barrier against optimal pleasure.

I stood up on my knees, pulling him up opposite me by the shirt. He snickered as I pushed his shirt up, tossing it aside. I kissed down the smooth skin of his chest, licking his soft, flat belly, happy to have the shirt out of the way. I ran my hands over his bare skin and nipped the trail of coarse pubic hair that lead up to his belly button. “You’re a horny little boy, aren’t you?” He said, pulling my shirt up over my head. He took my jaw in his hands again and we were roughly kissing. I clung to him, as if by a magnetic pull, wanting no space between us. I wanted to feel every inch of him covering me. I dug my nails into his back and scratched slowly as he sucked my tongue and tugged on my bottom lip with his teeth.

There was no use pretending now, I was achingly hard. It didn’t matter that it was Nicky, my best friend, or that he was a boy. In fact there was comfort, and possibly more pleasure, in the fact that all this was happening with someone I was so close to. And it was kind of thrilling, seeing this assertive, take-charge sexuality coming from my goofy, humorous friend. I wanted to see what else he could do, how far he could take that hidden domination

And I wanted him to get me off.

Our mouths were wet and slippery, our “kisses” turned more into sloppy, passionate licks of each others’ tongues. I was flushed with desire, and wanted more, more, more. It was funny how sex made this more adventurous person come out of me as well. Normally I would never be so bold, but encouraged by my need, I brazenly pulled on his zipper and began stroking him. He felt warm and thick in my hands, his skin moving easily over the enflamed tissue. I moaned-he simply felt great. His snickers turned into a wicked laugh. “So that’s what you want, huh?” he said, running his palm over my own tender bulge. “Ahh…” I said, my knees buckling under his more experienced touch. His fingers worked quickly, unzipping my jeans and pushing them down to my knees. I buried my face in his shoulder as he began jerking me. My back shuddered with pleasure, reveling in the way he gripped me, pumping his fist up and down slowly, torturing me with how good it felt. I breathed another moan against his neck: “Ahhh.”

And there was that naughty giggle again. “Like that?” he asked, nibbling my neck. I nodded, too shy to show him my face, and the effect his hands were having on me. But the result was maddening; I wanted us to go on like that forever. “Do you…” I began nervously. “Do you think you can make me feel even better?” I said. I felt the flush on my cheeks. I wasn’t used to saying things like that. Nicky raised his eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sure I can.” He lifted my chin with his finger, causing me to face him. “What did you have in mind?”

 

I gave him a coy smile and pulled my jeans all the way off. Then I lay back on our mess of sleeping bags and blankets, exposing my naked body to him. I took my base in my hand and shook my length at him, begging for him to come closer.

-

Richey was always the kind of guy that kept to himself, but he always knew how to have a good time. Sure, we always harmlessly teased him for being a virgin, but he was a barrel of laughs and an all-around fun guy to be around if he felt comfortable with the people involved. So I was floored that the quiet, bookish virign was now acting so raunchy, tugging on my clothes and beckoning me with his length. Of course I knew he had a sexual side, but how was I to expect it was so damn delightful?  
I crawled over to him, eyeing his gorgeous body. He was always a handsome lad, with a nice face and narrow body, and he had a beautiful cock to go with it. It was a long, pale white thing, with a thickness I didn’t expect from a shy boy like him. It was devilish, watching him touch himself with slow, rythmic gestures as he waited for me. I kissed the soft, pink tip, lapping up the precum that had formed there. I moaned as I took him in deeper, sliding my mouth up and down his shaft. I looked up at him, and God, was he adorable. He had his eyes closed and was biting down on his swollen, red lip as he squirmed. “Nic..ky…” he moaned. “Oh God, I…” he bit down on his thumb nail, whimpering as he shot into my mouth. I groaned. His load was warm and sticky, with a delightful salty taste. I swallowed him in one gulp.

When it was over, I stood over him on my hands and knees, watching as he recovered from his climax. I smiled at him. “Did you have fun?” I said. He nodded, smiling as well. I leaned back to pull a blanket over us. “No!” he cried suddenly. I was puzzled. “Is everything okay?” I asked, concerned. He slid out from under me. “Now it’s your turn,” he said seductively. “I want to try it.”

I was stunned, but so, so turned on by this shy boy being so unabashed. I was already throbbing from his wanton gestures, and my pleasure was only heightened as he ran his tongue over my length. I smeared my precum over his pouty, pale lips. He giggled and licked it off, the cheeky bastard. When he took me in his mouth properly, it was astonishing. His mouth was warm and slick, and so hungry for pleasure. He moved quickly, his pretty lips wrapped around me as he slid over my aching length. I ran my fingers through his messy, dark hair as he sucked just the tip, holding it tightly in his mouth then quickly pulling back all the way, so it made a naughty popping sound when it came out. He did this rapidly, eagerly, and my head rolled back, demonstrating how much it was doing for me. Richey could’ve been a seasoned pro with how well he sucked cock. I thrusted along in time with his gestures, groaning.  
But then I looked down at him.

 

It was his innocent little face that did it for me. He was always a gorgeous creature with his milky skin and sharp cheekbones, defined even more by his hollowed out cheeks as he sucked. But it was his dark, round babydoll eyes looking up at me that pushed me over the edge. He looked up at me so innocently, batting his eyelashes naively as he sucked me. “Mmmm,” I moaned snapping my eyes shut as I felt him flutter his tongue quickly over my tip. “Oh God, Richey,” I said, tightening my grasp on his hair and feeling my release in long, slow pulses. My knees shook as I came. I paused for a moment after, catching my breath. When I finally opened my eyes, I was taken aback! Instead of opening his mouth like I assumed, I realized I had cum onto Richey’s face. But he looked up at me, one huge, brown eye open, sparkling with mischief. He had a wicked smile on.

I continued to climax to the thought of his face like that, drenched in cum and looking so enthusiastic, for weeks after.

But in the moment, I was apologetic. “Jeez, sorry mate, I didn’t mean to do that.” But he waved it away. “Nonsense. I was aiming for you to do that,” he confessed. He ran two of his fingers down his cheek, wiping up some sperm and then sucking it clean off with a naughty giggle. I blushed, and smiled at him. “Let me help you with that,” I said, folding up a tissue and wiping up the mess on his face. “Careful ‘round your eyes.” When that was done, he lay back down on his sleeping bag. “That was really fun,” he said. “I agree,” I countered, reaching for a blanket. I caught a glimpse of the sky through the crack in the opening of the tent. It was bluish grey in color, telling that the sun would be up before long. “We better get some sleep,” I said, pulling the wool blanket over us. But as I cozied up next to him, Richey was already dreaming.


End file.
